


Kill Me Or Kiss Me

by Nikki66



Series: Kill Me Or Kiss Me [1]
Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age II
Genre: Arguing, Dragon Age Kink Meme, Enemies to Friends, Eventual Smut, Explicit Sexual Content, Feels, Fenders, Frottage, Hand Jobs, Humor, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, Kink Meme, M/M, Masturbation, Rivalry, Romance, kmeme
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-15
Updated: 2016-03-15
Packaged: 2018-05-26 20:22:27
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,908
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6254527
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Nikki66/pseuds/Nikki66
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Is this flirting, or a death-threat?</p><p>With Fenris, it's hard to tell.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Kill Me Or Kiss Me

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Xiactorvi](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Xiactorvi/gifts).



> WRITTEN FOR A LIVEJOURNAL KINKMEME: 
> 
> Fenris and Anders have been working their way towards sex for months, dropping hints and flirting and generally leaving each other sexually frustrated.
> 
> When they do finally reach the bedroom, both of them are expecting a thorough hatefucking, and even though they’re both ready and desperately, achingly want each other, Anders and Fenris are low-key terrified because they’ve both had terrible experiences with sex in the past, and they’re expecting sex with each other to be rough, bordering on violent, and their lack of communication skills makes it difficult to discuss boundaries, so when it comes down to it they just jump straight into the sex.
> 
> Despite their expectations, the sex is unbelievably good. Not exactly gentle (if it IS gentle I won’t complain a bit) but both of them find themselves stopping whenever the other seems uncomfortable or makes a noise that sounds even remotely like they’re in pain, shifting positions or putting their hands somewhere else, whatever it takes to make the other comfortable again.
> 
> -Doesn’t matter who’s on top or who’s on bottom.
> 
> -No actual explicit noncon references/flashbacks, please! Anders and Fenris both seem like they’d avoid talking about their past experiences until they got to know each other a lot better/were more comfortable with each other, and when they’re sleeping together I’d like them both to be very much in the moment and not reliving those horrible experiences.
> 
> Bonus points:
> 
> +They kiss either while the sex is happening or after.
> 
> +They spend the night together afterwards.
> 
> +++++Because I’m a sap: Anders falls in love with Fenris midway through the sex because I just feel like his heart would have horrible timing like that.
> 
> +++++++Fenris doesn’t fall in love nearly as soon as Anders, but that doesn’t mean there aren’t still feelings there, and if you feel like making this a longfic, Anders' love is eventually returned.

Anders had had enough of that blighted elf.

For the past month or so--yes, a month, it was a full moon the first time, and it was a full moon now--Fenris had been in Anders’ space. A lot. In his personal space. Crowding him.

Now, here he was, again. Nearly in his lap. At the Hanged Man. 

Anders had arrived for the Wicked Grace game early, on purpose. He’d chosen a seat on the bench next to the wall. That way, there was only one side of him available for a body to occupy. Merrill, bless her blood-mage heart, had taken it. Normally, he would have bristled at her close company, but she was the perfect deterrent. One: that spot was taken. Two: Fenris wouldn’t deliberately seat himself next to Merrill. As more of the Crew of Misfits arrived, Anders relaxed. The benches were filling, and the elf was not yet in attendance. Perhaps he wouldn’t come, tonight. 

The cards were dealt, and Anders studied his, prepared to lose dismally, as usual. He didn’t mind, really. He came for the company, not the winnings. It was lonely in the clinic at night, and with Justice as his only company, his mind would start to run manic. 

A form appeared behind him, and rudely shoved Merrill down the bench, crowding her into those on her other side. Raised complaints were answered by Fenris’ bass tones. “Best view of the room,” he replied shortly, squeezing his lithe frame between Merrill and Anders. 

Anders sighed heavily, and folded his hand. He shoved himself against the wall on his other side to garner a little space between himself and the elf. Fenris’ eyes cut over him. “Why do you bother to play? Your demon obviously doesn’t give you a winning edge,” he sneered.

“Neither does your taking up all my breathing room. There’s plenty of space over there,” he pointed to an empty table across the tavern. 

Fenris gave a quiet snort. “Take your breath away, do I?” the elf muttered.

Anders did a double-take, face incredulous. “You... are a serious pain in my ass, you know that?”

Fenris turned his dark green gaze to Anders’. “I could be....” 

What the fuck? Was this a threat, now? It had to be. It couldn’t be a flirt. No... it was pathetic, if it was an attempt to flirt. All this crowding, now the threat... Fenris was pulling some sort of dominance ploy. Trying to make Anders nervous, perhaps. Hoping to shake his footing.

He shook his head in disbelief, pulling his eyes from the elf’s oddly compelling stare, and dropped his head in his hands.

First time something like this happened, was on Sundermount. A visit to the Dalish, a hike up the mountain, into some nasty cave. Spiders, undead, the usual. Fenris had taken a fall, battling the last grotesquely inflated spider. He’d been knocked backward, his heel catching on a rock, pitching backward off of the ledge, and cracking his head on the cavern floor below.

Anders had followed him down, somewhat more decorously. He’d assessed him, found him unconscious with a small head wound. His white hair was wet and sticky with blood on the back of his head. It really was a small wound, but it bled the way head wounds do. 

A small burst of healing magic healed the concussion, and Fenris began to revive, muttering. Anders’ hand cupped the back of his bloody head, and a second trickle of magic closed the wound. His fingers slid through the fine hair, feeling for more injuries.

That was when he saw the look on Fenris’ face. 

Green eyes huge, mouth slightly agape, he was staring into Anders’ face with a look of... well, a look of.... awe? 

“Fenris... you feel alright?” he’d asked. He bent closer, to check the elf’s pupils in the dim light. Fenris suddenly squirmed, hands shoving Anders’ shoulders, and rolled up into a sitting position. 

“Get off of me, abomination,” came the answering snarl.

Damned elf was fine. “I wasn’t on you, Elf, and you’re welcome for the healing.”

Camp was near a small lake, that evening. Anders took his turn to bathe, washing the spider ichor off in the water, warm in the cool evening air. As he finished pulling his clean tunic over his head, the moon caught his eye. Full, hanging low over the horizon, huge in the mist that rose from the lake. It was beautiful. He simply basked a moment in its glow. There wasn’t a lot of beauty in his life. He relished it where he found it.

He turned, finally, to leave, and found himself chest-to-chest with the elf. Stripped-down to just his leggings, lyrium lines faintly reflecting the moon’s light, his eyes were again gazing intently into Anders’.

“Maker’s balls, what are you doing?” he asked in surprise, stepping back. Fenris’ eyes held his a second or two more, then his head jerked to look at the lake.

“Waiting for you to decide someone else might care to wash, Mage,” he spat.

Anders stooped and picked up his belongings. “It’s all yours, Grumpy,” he growled in return, and left.

It had been like that, ever since. Turning around to find the elf standing so close to him they nearly touched. Getting crowded into corners and against walls. Small shoves, as though to push the mage out of his way, the elf’s hand then lingering on his back or shoulder. And, each time, that look. That intense gaze. Those compelling green eyes staring into his for just a beat, until a sneering insult broke the connection.

Now, shoved against the wall, again, Anders rubbed his eyes. Maker... the elf was going to kill him. That had to be it. He just hadn’t worked up to it. But, one day, the crowding or the shove would come with a fist through his chest.

He moaned in irritation, and chanced a look at the elf from the corner of his eyes. The elf was looking back, cards raised to block his face from the rest of the table. He was looking at Anders, and it wasn’t anger or menace that shone in those intense green eyes.

It was want.

It took Fenris slightly longer to pull his gaze away than usual. He cleared his throat, and focused on his cards.

Anders was non-plussed. He’d never even considered that the elf had desires of that type. He didn’t visit the Rose, as far as he knew. He usually sidestepped erotic banter. It was also worrying. Anders had seen such want in the eyes of a man who hated him, before. He knew what followed. The thought of being raped by the angry, mage-hating elf was only slightly lower on Anders’ Things-I’d-Like-To-Avoid list than having his heart ripped out by him. 

He decided sitting wedged between the wall and a man who was trying to decide whether he’d rather ravage him or kill him was the worst way to spend his evening, and stood to leave. His boot caught on the bench as he stepped backward over it, and he plummeted straight back toward the floor. Only to be caught inches from landing, by a quick, strong arm. 

His surprised eyes took in the face smirking above his. Bent over him in an awkward, yet agile position, Fenris’ face was close to his. The elf smirked. “Be careful, Mage. You could get hurt,” he muttered quietly. Anders reconsidered his assessment. The smirk, the glint in the green... those were not the eyes of a rapist. 

Alright then... Anders was calling this bluff. He wasn’t going to run scared from this infuriating elf. He smirked in return. “So could you.”

Fenris scowled slightly in confusion, then pulled his arm abruptly from under Anders’ back. The mage fell the rest of the way to the floor with a soft “Oof!” He pulled himself into a standing position, and strode for the door. 

A couple weeks later, Hawke came calling with the elf in tow, as well as Isabella. There was a band of brigands on the coast, and Anders could make some decent cash as part of the party. Anders needed some cash, badly. He left Isabella and Hawke pondering over some rather grisly potion ingredients, and went to his tiny bedroom at the back of the clinic for his pack. As he turned to come out, he was face to face with the penetrating gaze of the elf, again. Anders stepped forward, slowly pressing his torso agains the elf’s. “Something you need?” He asked suggestively.

Fenris’ eyes widened, and his lips parted as though to reply. Instead, he turned in a whirl and strode back to the others. Point to the mage, Anders thought with a snort.

The hike to the Wounded Coast gave him too much time to dwell on the game he’d entered into. Fenris didn’t back off, oh no. He was escalating. He walked closely enough to Anders that his gauntleted hand brushed against Anders’. He bumped him at every turn. He glared at the mage at the slightest opportunity to look his way.

During a rest break, Anders turned to find the elf’s gaze had left his face. It was traveling up his body. He smirked, and waited for the green eyes to meet his. Fenris frowned. Anders smiled. “See anything you like?”

The elf narrowed his eyes. “Who could tell, with you wearing that ridiculous get-up?”

Anders bit his lower lip through his grin. “Easy way to remedy that... take it off.”

Hawke approached them, then, to discuss the plan. Fenris scowled and turned to listen.

The rest of the trip was pretty much the same. Glares, gazes, brushing skin, a few smirks. Anders joined Isabella in her torment of the elf. When she began guessing the color of Fenris’ underclothes again, Anders offered his opinion.

“None.”

Isabella laughed delightedly. “Oh, Anders! How nice to see you join in the fun! None, huh?”

“Yep. Just look... the skin-tight leggings, no lines marring the smooth curve of his ass.... He’s not wearing underclothes.”

Isabella laughed, again. Fenris ducked his head, and Anders noted the tips of his ears burning red. 

And, now that he’d thought to look... he noticed the elf had a very lovely curve to his ass. Strong legs... slender hips... he felt his own ears heat, now. He didn’t like where that was going. He couldn’t play this game if he was actually affected by it. 

Wicked Grace became a torment. No matter where he sat, Fenris continued to find a way to plaster himself to the mage’s side. 

“Just sit in my lap, why don’t you?” he groused after one particularly tight fit. The elf was continuing to shift, nudging his hips and shoulders to clear as much space as possible in the spot he’d commandeered. 

“I imagine you’d like that,” Fenris replied.

“Maybe I would. Maybe you would.”

“Would you even know what to do with me, were I on your lap?” Fenris scoffed.

Anders leaned close, his lips nearly touching the pointed ear, his voice a breathy whisper. “I have several thoughts on what to do with that ass sitting in my lap.”

Fenris didn’t turn away or knock him with an elbow, as he often did when Anders started playing hard-ball. He leaned in, as well. “You are all talk, Mage.”

Anders shrugged. “Well, you’ll never find out.”

He could swear he heard a feral growl in reply.

His walk home was distracted by thoughts of the elf that kept flitting through his mind. The elf on his lap was a compelling picture. That firm ass, shifting to get comfortable, rubbing against Anders’ hardening flesh through their clothes. Or, Fenris shoving his chest against Anders’, pinning him to the wall. Grinding his own hard cock against Anders’ erection, frotting with intense frowns, glaring at each other, hate turned to lust. 

That was the image Anders let flow through his mind as he took himself in hand, once in the safety of his bed. Stroking himself harshly, the way the encounter would be; all heat and rough force, more punishment than pleasure. Anders peaked desperately quickly, the imagined sound of Fenris’ growled completion ringing in his mind.

He gasped for breath, feeling the mess he’d made of himself. What the fuck was that? Did he really want that hateful bastard of an elf in his bed? And, how was he supposed to look Fenris in the face, when he’d brought the mage to climax simply by rubbing against him in his mind?

Fuck.

He tried to avoid the elf entirely, and was entirely unsuccessful. Anytime Hawke came to see him, the elf was with him. Anytime he went to the Hanged Man, the elf nearly climbed in his lap. Anders’ body was betraying him, time and time, again. The green of those hot gazes, the heat of that insistent body, the dulcet tones of those biting words.... Anders was grateful for his long tunic, hiding the evidence of his arousal.

He was walking through Hightown, toward the elf’s stolen mansion. It was the last place he wanted to go. But, when he’d shown up at Hawke’s place, Bodahn had directed him to Fenris, where Hawke had just headed.

Fenris yanked open the door at Anders’ knock. He looked surprised, angry and slightly frightened to see the mage on his doorstep. He did stand back and allow Anders through the door.

“What do you want, Mage?”

“I was supposed to meet Hawke for a Waterfront job. I was told he came here.”

“He did, and he left. The job’s off. He told me to tell you.”

Anders huffed. The elf was slowly moving into his personal space, again. He could smell him... hot, salty, like midday on a beach. His body warmed uncomfortably.

“And, would you have? Or, would you have let me go wandering into danger without backup?” he countered, his back hitting the wall as he tried to move away from the encroaching elf.

Fenris’ chest came up against his, surprisingly warm. He wasn’t wearing his armor, Anders’ noticed. Just his black tunic and leggings. “I’d have found you... sooner or later. For some reason, or another.” The elf was very close. His cheek brushed Anders’ as he leaned into him, breathing deeply of the skin along his neck. His hands slid under the feathered pauldrons to grip his arms almost painfully.

Anders’ breath stuttered slightly. Maker, was this it? Was Fenris going to try... his thoughts were interrupted by the elf’s lips suddenly hovering very close over his. “Planning to kiss me, then?” He said with much more levity than he felt.

Fenris snarled. “As if I’d ever kiss an abomination,” he said with less hate than he’d probably intended. His body fell forward against Anders’, foreheads touching. Anders quailed with misery. His cock was standing at rock hard attention, and there was no way Fenris couldn’t feel it. The elf’s smirk confirmed it. His hard thrust against the mage also confirmed Fenris’ own arousal. Anders sucked in air in surprise... Fenris was as hard as he.

His hands gripped the firm hips, pulled the elf more tightly against him. “Looks like, maybe, you’d fuck an abomination.” He moved himself against Fenris, as well, body flaming with heat as their arousals met through their clothes... Maker it was his fantasy, coming true. 

“As if you’d be so lucky,” Fenris breathed, moving in time with Anders.

Anders panted harshly. “Shut up, Fenris. Either take me to your bed, or stop playing this game, now.”

Fenris’ face pulled back, staring into Anders’ in shock. Anders prepared to be summarily, and literally, thrown out the door. Instead, his wrist was grabbed in a punishing grip, and he was pulled away from the wall and up the stairs. 

Fenris dragged him, unprotesting, into a room that looked to serve as living area and bedroom in one. Shoving him up against the wall, again, Fenris yanked at the fastens of the pauldron overcoat, and dragged it roughly off of the mage’s arms. The elf’s hands, minus the clawed gauntlets, were surprisingly warm as they slid up Anders’ bare arms. Those green eyes were focused on the skin that was bared before him for the first time. 

Anders was befuddled by the almost tender way that the elf’s hands were stroking his skin. The fingers danced over his neck and throat now, delicately, sliding up into his hair. Fenris’ expression was soft, wondering. His fingers grasped the tie holding back Anders’ hair, and slid it out. As Fenris let the loosened tresses slip through his fingers, his expression changed. Eyes hardened, mouth snarled. His hands grasped the red-gold hair in his hands, yanking Anders’ head to the side as the elf’s teeth latched onto his neck.

The bite, hard, claiming, sent a shudder of pain and passion through the mage’s body. He groaned, hands gripping the elf’s shoulders, pulling him closer rather than pushing him away. The bite turned into suction, licking, nibbling; just as intense, just as passion-inducing. Fenris’ hands were working the fastens on Anders’ coat, unbuckling his belt, pulling the garment from him with violent motions. He grasped Anders’ hips and spun him to face the wall, kicking his ankles to spread his legs. 

Anders froze, a frightened whine breaking from him. He started to push away from the wall. Fenris’ arms turned him to face him, again. His eyes were puzzled, then he gave a small grunt and nod. He didn’t resist when Anders spun them around, pinning him in place against the wall, chest to chest. He held the lyrium etched arms over the elf’s head, one hand on his wrists to hold them there.

Anders was kicking off his boots and pulling Fenris’ tunic up over his head. Fenris didn’t fight him, allowing him to slide the shirt off. His free hand stroked down the elf’s chest. He’d seen Fenris partially unclothed, before, when injured and receiving healing, and at the lake that night. He hadn’t ever stopped to consider the beauty of him.

Lithe, firm muscles, dark skin, the terrible grace of the lyrium that decorated his body. Anders was breathing hard, just as Fenris was. The elf’s eyes were nearly black, the pupils blown wide. He watched Anders, his expression one of wary desire. Anders lifted Fenris’ chin, and with a warm, wet tongue, licked along the central line of lyrium on his throat. Fenris groaned and shivered. Anders did it again, feeling the elf break into goosebumps, hearing his breathy moans.

He kissed and licked and nibbled his way down Fenris’ body, following the lines. Fenris was breaking into a sweat, eyes drooping closed, mouth open with his panting groans. When he’d gone as far as he could reach with his hand still restraining the elf’s wrists, he stopped. He used his free hand to cup Fenris through his leggings, feeling the hot, hard bulge. He stroked his palm against him, chortling softly when Fenris pushed against his hand. “You want it. You want me.”

Fenris tried to rally a defense. His voice was husky with want. “Don’t tease me, Mage, so help me....” He jerked his hands from Anders’ grip, and tore at the mage’s pants, shoving them down. Anders stepped out of them, then swung the elf away from the wall and toward the bed.

He dropped the elf down on the bed, and grabbing the waistband of his leggings, pulled them roughly down his hips and off. He knelt over the elf’s legs, and raked him with his gaze. Fucking beautiful. His shaft, hard, dusky, weeping, was etched with the same lyrium lines as the rest of his body. Anders wanted him. Badly. He wanted him gently... he wanted Fenris to look at him again, the way he did when he first touched his skin. That gentleness... where had it come from? It was hidden under that prickly exterior, kept safe from the roughness of a life lived in slavery, lived in fear of pain.

His eyes rose to meet Fenris’. He saw the gentleness, just for a second, saw his own thoughts mirrored in the eyes of the elf. Then, as if knowing he’d been discovered, Fenris’ face took on the snarl so typical of him when viewing the mage. “I was right. You don’t have a clue what to do with me, now you’ve got me.”

It hurt. Shockingly, it hurt. Anders felt that he understood the elf, now, better than he ever had... yet, Fenris wouldn’t allow it. Wouldn’t understand him in return. He wanted to hurt him back. But, he couldn’t. 

Instead, he pleasured him. He took that beautiful, lyrium lined cock in his hand, and wiped the sneer off of his face. He watched Fenris as he fell into the pleasure Anders gave him. Watched as his walls began to fall. He saw the anger, the pain, the defensiveness all crumble. Then, it was just pure, vulnerable want on the impassioned face. Fenris was gasping, whispers breaking from his lips. This, just from Anders’ hand on him. As though he’d never known sexual pleasure before.... Oh, Maker... he hadn’t, had he? 

He didn’t know how to flirt, didn’t know how to express his desire. He laced his overtures with pain and offense... because that’s all he’d known, before. Anders’ heart broke. He released Fenris’ flesh, moved to lie down beside him. Fenris nearly shouted in frustration, hands grabbing Anders’ hair, and pulling him down toward his length. 

“Don’t leave me unfinished!” he panted desperately.

Anders froze for a brief second. Hands pulling his hair roughly, mouth being forced toward a hard cock.... He saw recognition in Fenris’ eyes. The hands left his hair, grabbed his upper arms. He was pulled up beside the elf. 

The green eyes searched his face, open vulnerability back. “Maybe, just touch me....” his soft voice said. Anders quirked a small smile. He pulled Fenris flush against him, on their sides, and slid his cock against the elf’s. Fenris groaned throatily, head arching back. Anders thrust again, his moans joining Fenris’. Rocking together, Anders felt his heart blossoming. Fenris didn’t want to hurt him...didn’t want him to suffer. Fenris was afraid, of so much. The bravest man he’d ever met, and he was hiding a lifetime of fear and empathy under that shell of his. 

Anders ran his hand into Fenris’ silky--impossibly silky--hair. He pulled the elf’s face to his, their breaths mingling, eyes holding. Slowly, so slowly, giving him space to pull away if he needed, Anders lowered his lips to Fenris’. Oh, gracious... shocks coursed through him, all meeting in his chest. Fenris had the softest, most plush lips he’d ever tasted. Such gentle, tentative kisses in return. Anders moaned, his cock almost forgotten in the beauty of the kiss he shared. When he could resist no more, he gently curled his tongue into the elf’s mouth. Fenris jolted. His hands flew to Anders’ hair, and for a second, he feared it was to pull him away, that he’d gone to far.

Fenris pulled his head closer, mouth opening against his, tongue sliding into his. His body was going to go up in flames, he knew it. This elf would be his undoing. He wanted him. He began to roll atop him, pull the elf’s knees up on either side of his hips. The kiss broke. His eyes opened, saw Fenris’ eyes squeezed tight, teeth biting into his lower lip... waiting for the pain. Because that’s what he thinks this has to be. But, it doesn't.

Anders rolled over, pulling Fenris between his thighs. Fenris’ look of surprise was adorable. Anders smiled at him, pulled him back to his mouth, and resumed that blistering kiss.

Fenris was thrusting against him, again, sending jolts of pleasure rocketing through him, but Anders still wanted more. He snaked a hand between his own legs, to the opening that longed to be breached, and cast a particular spell. He felt his body open, felt it lubricate, felt it ready for Fenris.

Fenris had felt the small burst of magic, and was looking at him curiously with passion-addled eyes.

Anders was panting in need, now. He grasped Fenris' rigid shaft, and shifted his hips slightly. “I want you inside me,” he gasped. Fenris was panting, too, and shook his head.

“I don’t want to hurt... ohhhhh, Maker....” His cock was sliding inside Anders’ tight, but well prepared, sheath. As Anders arched his back, groaning in pleasure, Fenris watched his face, disbelief written all over him. He sank to the hilt, dropping his head into Anders’ neck. 

Anders was quivering in restraint. “Fenris... for the love of all that’s holy... move.”

Fenris huffed a small chortle, and moved.

Upon his first withdrawal and thrusting return, Fenris gave a shout of unexpected ecstasy. On the next, Anders did. Then, it was a race. 

Fenris pounded into him, desperate keens pulled from his chest. Anders shifted his hips’ movements slightly, and there! Maker, yes... Fenris was bludgeoning his sweet spot. Anders felt his body taking over, leaving his thinking mind behind. He was writhing, thrusting, legs wrapping about the waist of the elf striving above him. His voice was calling hoarsely, to the Maker, to Fenris, to need undefined. 

He was rising, the crest so close... Fenris shouted in triumph, his cock slamming home one last time, emptying hot seed into him... and Anders exploded into exquisite bliss.

Fenris collapsed upon him, body quivering, hips still making small thrusts as he rode the aftershocks. Anders was wrapping his arms about the elf, his heart struggling with more than physical exertion. He was on dangerous ground, here. He’d done this before... felt emotion he was safer avoiding. The only thing that could come from feeling... things... for Fenris was a broken heart. And, maybe a broken limb.

Fenris didn’t want to hurt him. He’d said the words. He’d been willing to let Anders hurt him, if that’s what Anders had needed. But, Anders was damned if he would. Fenris had been hurt enough, it was clear.

Who was this elf?

Anders’ thoughts were interrupted by Fenris carefully pulling out of his body, and moving to lie next to him. Strong arms wrapped about him, holding Anders close... cuddling him, he realized in disbelief.

Fenris’ soft voice spoke. “This... was not what I had expected.”

Anders chuckled lightly. “No. Nor I.”

“I was wrong, Mage. You knew what to do with me. And... what not to.”

Anders’ heart blew up into tiny little fluttering butterflies. He was so falling in love with this man. “As did you,” he whispered.

“I just truly didn’t expect this.” Fenris’ hand was slowly combing through Anders’ tousled locks. He cleared his throat nervously. “I had never... I mean, of my own choice....”

Anders put fingers against Fenris’ lips. “I figured that out. I think I figured a lot out.”

He felt the elf tense, heard his voice take an edge. “Did you, Mage? Such as....?”

He knew Fenris was preparing to raise his walls again. “Such as... you are a very private person, who keeps his truest self safe from the depredations of others. A man who would be very unhappy... hurt... if his intimate thoughts and feelings were exploited. A man I would never betray in such a way.”

Fenris was quiet, as though thinking. Then, his body relaxed, again. “You see a lot, Mage,” he said, softly. “You... you are very sensitive to others’ pain. I’ve seen it in your role as a healer. Somehow, I didn’t expect it of you, tonight.”

“I didn’t expect it of you, either.”

They were quiet for a while, relaxing in the afterglow, fingers stroking softly.

“I would enjoy it if you would stay, tonight,” Fenris offered.

“You’d let an abomination sleep beside you?”

“I’d let you sleep beside me. All things considered, your demon has never threatened me. Not even when I frightened you.”

Anders chuckled. “Well, all things considered, you’re not really that frightening.”

Fenris chuckled in return, the most adorable laugh Anders thought he had ever heard. “Sleep, Anders... You’re going to need your rest. I have every intention of repaying your kindness.”

Anders shook his head in wonder. “Do you have any idea how close I am to offering you my heart on a silver platter?” 

Fenris was quiet. Perhaps that could have been left unsaid. “Do you know how close I would be to accepting it?”

It was Anders’ turn to be quiet. “Why did you decide you wanted me this way?”

He felt Fenris shrug. “I have been asking myself that for months. I came-to in the cave, after the spiders, and there you were. Cradling my head, face full of compassion... I don’t know. It was as though I’d never seen you before. Then, later, seeing you with your face turned to the moonlight.... I guess I just saw something more than an abomination.”

“I really hate it when you call me that.”

Fenris sighed. His hand stroked Anders’ cheek. “I know. It’s not easy for me to care about others. It’s easier to just be angry. It’s safer.”

"I’m the opposite. I feel too much. I give away my heart too easily.”

“I know. I’ll try to respect that.”

“Respect... That’s a great place to start.”

 

fin.

**Author's Note:**

> My first kinkmeme fill. It was fun.


End file.
